Bugolgi Apparatus

Doing the work We first met each other When we were both doing the work You were covered in blood I was up to my mouth in shit Living within spitting distance I didn't extend my hand From time to time We'd meet at the same impasse Years pass amazingly We're still doing the work Bumping into each other In a quickly moving current Almost by chance In front of the rapids We enjoy a little picnic together There on a rock by the bank

When the noise of the world Gets under my silence I bite my lip and think of you

overrun guy reading on his cellphone  while falling off a cliff with no time to scream  between thinking about  how stupid he is  and reading about two people  shot in an argument  about who pushed first while bleeding to death   no time to cry  thinking of their mothers  who would come to the funeral  and what would they wear  about their cousins  in Afghanistan and what they did  no time to ask before  pulling the trigger  taking these moments  into infinity   on a planet overrun  with human ingenuity

our tiny bureaucratic lives addicts and scholars devout readers, philosophers political leaders and stoned undergraduates processing meaninglessness making it their business going deep in cabinets just to understand it lovers and soldiers bankers and lawyers homeless, slumlords non-profit financial officers shooting smack drinking vodka talking early morning hours to pin the tail on the business so you don’t have to how we wish we could just go about it without the fuss of it to keep things all automatic like driving back home that god would show his hand and we could all be done with it and the painters and sculptors institutionalized mothers zen masters and muggers could just take a break from it processing the meaninglessness factoring the meaninglessness it keeps a planet spinning just by us guessing

The woman screams at the departing rider with the large packages, “More! More! Buy more!" She reads the headlines out loud. Where does the line between loneliness and madness dissolve?

http://youtu.be/2Ca0yH8k6wQ

Space Junk as if it was yours to own it was only there to touch  passing on to someone who’s going very long you're needing it now it's never coming back  It  must be given away with no strings attached missing home missing warmth people who loved you are all gone now we who never evolved we who got stuck our eyes gorging on  that shiny space junk

This man is intermittently rocking against The thin interior body panel of the bus My knee feels his every motion It seems as if he just can't get settled Something in his life leaves him restless  He's dressed for contracting labor His fleece jacket is immaculate his cap Sports a jungle foliage pattern Done over in a muted gray and brown color scheme The label on the adjusting band reads "Yankees" He coughs the cough of a drywall installer The outer lobes of his ears seem to have particles blasted into them He occasionally looks out the window Then his gaze trails down to his lap

Panavision When we return to our heads From the outside world We feel gratitude to life For its raw materials Finished as thoughts Desires, and attitudes Continuing to work On what we feel, say, and do In rare occasions when we connect With members of our species or sex What we mostly feel is overload The pull of a planet around a star Under the gaze of another's lens The way back is blocked We're inside their heads Without navigable craft, suits, apart Returned to a moment in 1971

E-lone distance we inhabit  is close enough to touch mouse is a rabbit  making clicking sounds missed the diagnosis off by a symptom a real psychosis I can’t tell the difference when I pick up  where you left off you’d swear  we were never gone  everything  we ever did wrong  falls into a puddle  and bites the dust three strikes I’m out no fourth rounds we can never go back  all sales final  yet something moves something’s still there and it’s grown up in the wild I would never swear   we were all wet  but we got to get back to that pool of sweat I wouldn’t dare  to cause you regrets we just gotta finish what we left undone

the trouble with being real half of you just aren’t real  I had some trouble seeing how but now that I know the trick  I can get back to where I was all of you know the deal  some were dealt gift cards rest of us are feeling like, “damn how did my luck run out?” half of you are just an app, placeholder, or b-roll stock  I wanna be just like you-   being real hasn't panned out

Eternal Adolescence I'm jealous of  food in your mouth shoes on your feet pencils in your hand air you breathe capturing what you say holding you too long living in your  subconscious  writing your hums work, time, money  conspiring to keep  you precious  for all those reasons  I really don't believe senselessness we keep in mind draining out of our bodies one touch at a time adolescence remains defined rubbing itself against the time of our lives